


“It is what it is. You are what you it. There are no mistakes.”

by notjustmom



Series: Tom Robbins Remix [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Post return, Side of Fluff, Tom Robbins, angsty bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14200362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	1. Chapter 1

For most of their lives, they had both been told, in some way, that they were, 'an afterthought,' or in John's case, an 'oops.' This he had directly from the jackass's mouth, as his father, sober for once, was packing up to leave for the final time, had looked at his youngest child, small for his age, and smarter than he had been or ever would be even at eleven and grimaced. "Ya wasn't even meant to be, lad. You were, I think the phrase is, these days, an 'oops.'" And then he had left without a backward glance, letting the door bang behind him.

So there were moments when even after Sherlock's return, perhaps especially after his return when John would fall into his deep silences, and the only thing for it was for Sherlock to stop whatever it was he was doing, turn off the lights and phones and gently lead John to bed, curl up around him, and hold him tightly enough until John could register his presence after a time, with a shuddering sob.

"It shouldn't matter. After all this time." He gasped out into Sherlock's chest, finally finding his voice.

"No. It shouldn't and doesn't. Not in the least. Generally speaking, I've found, people are, for the most part, stupid."

John snorted in his arms and buried his face into Sherlock's now damp shirt.

"They are. I've spent most of my life proving that hypothesis. Even parents, especially parents. Just because they have the biological perogative to reproduce, doesn't mean they are wise enough to be parents. They didn't deserve you. You are strong, and brilliant, John Watson, and absolutely perfect. You never were an 'oops.' "

John had to laugh at the disgust in Sherlock's voice as he somehow perfectly channeled his late father's working class mumble. 

"I'm serious."

"I know you are." John sat up carefully and gazed down at Sherlock. His green eyes flashed angrily, not at him, but at those morons who had ever made his Bumble feel less than everything he was. Yes, he could be stubborn, and sometimes his anger got the best of him, but it was usually in response to the prevailing acceptance of all that was inane, harebrained and as John would bellow out while reading the morning paper, "of all the chowderheaded nincompoopery!" He had even less tolerance for fools than he did himself, but his compassion for those in need had cracked his shuttered heart, and he knew that deep empathy had come from a source of such hurt, that all Sherlock could do was serve as witness and defender for his soft and all too human heart.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked quietly as he reached up to touch John's face.

"Hmm... yeah. I'm - sor -"

Sherlock shook his head and pulled John gently down and into a tender kiss, reminding him that he was safe, loved and oh so very, very necessary.

"Thai?"

"Please." John sighed, once he could catch his breath again.


	2. Chapter 2

Before the day he met John, Sherlock had never had someone who could translate for him; one who could step between him and an annoying mediocre forensics 'expert', or him and his brother, or protect him from his own whirling emotions. As Mrs. Hudson would tell anyone who cared to ask, Sherlock's problem wasn't with organizing his thoughts - thinking was the easy part. It was only when sentiment threatened to disrupt the playback of those usually reliable artifacts of thought, that he found himself in trouble. 

He wasn't sure when it started. He would have agreed with Mycroft's recollection of a rather overly happy child, he managed to see the good in everything and everyone, and as early as a few months of age, he could hear the magic of the world around him. It took him time to understand that not many chose to, even if they had the ability. He knew his grandfather did, it was their secret, once he was old enough to learn that it was something he had to keep to himself, when he came to the realisation that people weren't supposed to hear the bees and the birds in quite the way he did, like a second language. Once he understood that his 'gift' made him odd, he did his best to be what others considered normal, but he couldn't quite stifle his ability to see through what most people tried to hide, so he was seen as even more of an outsider, and by the time he met John in his thirty-second year, he had all but given up that anyone could truly see him, and appreciate him for who he was.

Even now, when they had been together, and apart, for over six, no, seven years, there were days when he couldn't turn things down enough, he would hear and see everything, his filter would go down for repairs, it seemed. It usually happened when he was stuck on a difficult case that had found a way to affect him emotionally, or the yellow press had once again trespassed a bit too closely into their private life, but there were rare occasions when the odd, nearly buried nightmare would visit him in the light of day, and he couldn't stop talking to things and voices only he could see and hear. John would know before he could put it into words, and reach out to him, covering his ears, and kissing his eyelids, letting him know he was home and safe, and silently stop his world from spinning out of control.

"Bee."

He would slowly open his eyes and press his own trembling hands over John's still and sturdy fingers, then nod carefully, and bring John's fingers to his lips, kissing them softly, before finding his voice, not thanking the man who had found him just in time, but to whisper a cautious, "Bumble?" John would smile at him, and they would spend the rest of the day snuggled together, ignoring anything and anyone else who would dare to attempt to interrupt them, before quietly dressing, and walking over to Angelo's for a double order of tiramisu.


End file.
